


a kind of emptiness

by blazeofglory



Series: umbrellakink fills! [7]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Canon Compliant, Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: “When’s the last time you ate?” Ben asks, and Klaus startles, slipping out of his ridiculous yoga position as he turns to glare at Ben.“More recently than you, that’s for sure,” Klaus shoots back, and Ben rolls his eyes.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: umbrellakink fills! [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889470
Comments: 17
Kudos: 206





	a kind of emptiness

**Author's Note:**

> massive trigger warning for eating disorders! 
> 
> there have been a handful of prompts on the kink meme about how thin Klaus looked this season, and I thought, hey, this sounds like the perfect time to project my bullshit onto Klaus again!
> 
> (title from "hunger" by Florence + the Machine)

Klaus has always been skinny—when puberty hit, he got so _tall_ , and he’s been lanky ever since. It didn’t worry Ben at first; it wasn’t until after he died and Klaus couldn’t hide anything from him anymore that Ben realized there was a problem. But teenage Klaus had a _lot_ of problems, with his penchant for booze and drugs and older men, and most of Ben’s energy went into convincing Klaus not to do stupid shit every day. Sometimes it was possible to convince Klaus not to start his day with vodka, but it was nigh impossible to get him to eat breakfast. 

But Mom noticed, and Mom didn’t let Klaus skip meals anymore—and sure enough, Klaus regained all the weight he’d lost in the few months since Ben died, and Ben stopped worrying about it for a while. 

It was harder, after Klaus left home. He drank less, but did more drugs, and it wasn’t long before he reached a point where he stopped ignoring _any_ of Ben’s advice. As time passed, Klaus’s fortunes waxed and waned—when he had a roof over his head and someone that gave a shit about him, he ate at least one good meal a day. When he was on the streets, all his money went to his vices instead. 

When the apocalypse reared its ugly head, everything got _weird_ , but somehow, Klaus got a little bit _better_. He disappeared right off a bus, and showed back up covered in blood—and he was _healthier_ , physically if not mentally. He wasn’t sober, but he was _fit_ , like he’d been eating meals three times a day for a _year_ , and _exercising_ a _lot_. For all the heartbreak, for all the violence and the nightmares, for the first time in a long time, Klaus didn’t look hungry. 

Stuck in the 60s, Klaus gets sober, and Ben is still naive enough to hope that means Klaus is going to stay healthy and fit, and of _course_ he’s proved wrong. It’ll be a cold day in hell when Ben somehow manages to predict _anything_ Klaus does. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” Ben asks, and Klaus startles, slipping out of his ridiculous yoga position as he turns to glare at Ben. 

“More recently than you, that’s for sure,” Klaus shoots back, and Ben rolls his eyes. 

Klaus stretches out on his yoga mat and Ben can count his ribs. Klaus is shirtless, as always, and he’s more than just lanky—he’s _skin and bones_. His collarbones are practically hollow and his hip bones look sharp, and Ben doesn’t know how this doesn’t _bother_ Klaus. 

“Klaus, do you even realize how thin you are?” Ben persists, crossing his arms as Klaus scoffs. “It isn’t healthy.” 

“No one _else_ has any complaints,” Klaus points out, not even sparing Ben a glance. “Whole house full of people and you’re the only one whining, so _maybe_ hop off my dick about it.” 

Ben sits down right next to Klaus’s yoga mat, refusing to let this subject drop _again_. 

“Don’t you remember when this happened the first time?” Ben asks, a little gentler, trying not to sound accusatory. It’s _hard_ , when Klaus never fucking listens, but lecturing him never really works. “Klaus. Come on. Mom said it was like—like you were sick.” 

“Mm,” Klaus says, adjusting his stupid pose, and it’s like he isn’t even _listening_. “You see, Ben, I _was_ sick. I was 17 and you were dead and I discovered coke! That’ll really fuck up a teenage body!” 

“You weren’t _eating!"_

“I eat plenty now,” Klaus replies, finally sitting up and glaring at Ben. “I’ve always been skinny, what does it _matter_?” 

Ben tosses his hands up in frustration. “You get out of breath from a single flight of stairs! You’re always cold! I can count _all of your bones!”_

Klaus visibly forces his glare away, settling on a nonchalant expression and offering Ben a shrug as he stands up. 

“You worry too much,” Klaus says dismissively, rooting around in a pile of cushions and emerging victorious with a pack of cigarettes. He lights one and takes a long drag, looking anywhere but at Ben. 

“You’ve been doing so _well_ ,” Ben says quietly, and he can’t quite keep the desperation out of his voice. “Klaus, I’ve been so proud of you, I just—I know I worry a lot, but it’s because I want to take care of you.” 

Klaus is quiet for a long moment, his back to Ben, standing so _still_. Ash falls from his cigarette and onto the carpet. 

“I don’t need _anyone_ to take care of me,” Klaus finally says, voice cold. “I have everything under _control_ , it’s _fine_.” 

Klaus spins around suddenly, angry eyes set on Ben, gesticulating with his hand holding the lit cigarette. “Have I not done _enough_? I’m sober! I can manifest you! I have a _house_! Do I _look_ like I don’t have everything perfectly under control?” A beat. “Don’t answer that!” 

“I just want to help,” Ben replies, defeated. 

Klaus just stares at him for a long moment, eyes hard, finally raising the cigarette back up to his lips. Finally, he shrugs, and forces a smile that Ben doesn’t believe for a second. 

“What do you want me to do, huh?” Klaus asks with a light laugh. “Find a _therapist_? In the fucking _sixties_? They’d probably just prescribe some strong ass pills and a loving housewife, and I’m only interested in one of those things.” 

“I want you to _eat_ ,” Ben says, sighing. “Manifest me and I’ll even cook for you!” 

“I’m tired,” Klaus replies, and he _sounds_ it. But there’s no surprise there—Klaus is always tired. If the ghosts don’t keep him up, the nightmares do, and Ben has been there with him through every sleepless night. Most nights, Klaus only gets three or four hours of sleep—Ben doesn’t know how he’s functioning. 

Sheer force of will, maybe? Except, no, Ben doesn’t think Klaus has any strong _will_ to keep going. Even thinking that makes Ben feel _sick_ , but he knows it’s true; if Klaus somehow knew he would die tomorrow, he’d probably sigh in relief. 

One of these days, Klaus is going to be too tired and too weak to get up at all. Maybe he’ll die like that, festering in his depression and his apathy and his _control_. 

And there will be nothing Ben can do to help him. 

“Prophet?” 

Ben and Klaus both turn toward the door, where a blonde woman has poked her head in, smiling genially at Klaus, who motions for her to keep talking. 

“The feast is almost ready,” she says, looking a little nervous and excited. “Some of us thought it would be a good idea to welcome the newcomers!” 

“There!” Ben exclaims with a smile. “You don’t even have to cook!” 

Klaus doesn’t look at Ben; he smiles at the woman instead. “That’s so _sweet_. But I’m afraid we can’t have a feast tonight. I was going to announce it in a few minutes—we’re all going to _fast_ this weekend.” 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Ben says, and Klaus just keeps smiling politely.

**Author's Note:**

> love, as ever, to Sina. 
> 
> please let me know if you liked this one!


End file.
